


Imagine: Discovering Castiel is ticklish.

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [34]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Ticklish Castiel, Winchester Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Sister!Winchester Reader





	Imagine: Discovering Castiel is ticklish.

The shrillness of your shriek resounding through the halls of the bunker to penetrate the quietude of the library springs your brothers instantly to their feet. In pure practiced instinct Dean snatches at the pistol strapped beneath the table while Sam takes up the samurai sword handily on display on a shelf as they sprint off toward the sound of your screeching. Frantic flannel figures rounding into the hallway outside the kitchen, rubber soles of their shoes squealing in complaint as they slow their momentum, they slink along the wall to pause outside the door where the clamor of a struggle continues. They exchange a glance to silently summarize their strategy. After all, few foes could have made it past the bunker wards and security without declaring their arrival. Whatever is in there is the baddest kind of bad. Best to be smart about confronting it.

Dean jerks his head at the entrance and flicks off the safety on the gun.

Sam bobs his chin, indicating he will go in first and Dean will cover his back.

There is a quirked brow suggestion from Dean of entering _on the count of three_ , however, he disregards the plan to charge in before Sam can begin counting. He _is_ the big brother and in sibling politics it’s his job to protect the both of you from danger despite democratic decisions.

Sam barely has time to roll his eyes in indignation.

Respective weapons at the ready, they burst in to discover a sternly staring Castiel straddling your fallen form on the tiled floor. His halo of dark brown curls defies gravity, sticking up and out in all manner of mess. His tie is even more skewed than usual, tossed haphazardly over a shoulder. The trench coat hangs on for dear life by a single sleeve, and his white dress shirt is rumpled and half-tucked into his trousers.

Milk splatters the counter beside you. Cereal sprinkles every conveniently level surface. Golden Grahams, if Sam is not mistaken. Dean’s money is on Cinnamon Toast Crunch. A bowl, empty save for some stubborn bits of soggy cereal clinging to the sides, still spins in a far corner several feet away from a spoon. You lay flat on your back, wriggling and squeaking in protest, arms pinned above your head by the vexed and very disheveled angel.

Dean scowls and noisily uncocks the gun to announce their presence.

“Uh, hey guys,” Sam ventures, lowering his sword. “We heard a…a commotion.”

“Tell Cas to let me go,” you whine, tilting your cheek into a splash of milk to look pleadingly at your brothers.

“I’m only letting go if she swears not to touch me,” Cas growls, grip unrelenting, steel blue gaze fixed on you.

“Look,” Dean warns, taking a step nearer the kerfuffle, “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but if you don’t get off her right now buddy, it’s not my sister touching you that you have to worry about.”

“ _Our_ sister,” Sam mutters under his breath, perfectly capable too, perhaps more so, of defending your honor by means of physical intimidation.

Cas actually hesitates.

Dean looms closer.

“Fine,” the angel grunts and rolls off you.

Sam lends him a hand to stand as Dean hauls you to your feet.

“Dean, it’s fine. I’m fine.” You brush off his worried attention.

“What the heck happened?” Sam asks, looking between the two of you.

Cas dusts himself off and shrugs into his coat, mumbling, “Nothing.” He casts you a pointed glare, not so subtly shifting into Sam’s shadow and out of your immediate reach.

“Didn’t sound like nothing from where we were sitting,” Dean notes, gleaming greens narrowed at you in questioning concern.

“No it didn’t, did it?” you muse, focus landing on the edgy angel. Your regard flits back to your brother, a mischievous twinkle glinting in your eyes. “How about I show you?”

“Y/N, please,” Can entreats, attempting to step backward toward escape. “Not again.”

Sam catches him by the arm, preventing his flight.

“Sorry, angel.” You waggle your fingers in his direction. “But it’s abso-freakin-lutely adorable.”

Eyes wide and desperate, he shrinks into himself, free arm alternately swiping at Sam’s grip and trying to draw his coat lapels closed as best he can in defense as you dart your fingers beneath the layers of fabric to attack his ticklish sides. Stoic and unwillingly to embarrass himself by giving in to the involuntary response of his vessel in front of your brothers, he tries the tactic of holding his breath. He mistakenly believes that now that he knows what to expect, he can somehow will it not to happen.

The redness darkening his cheeks and the tears beginning to brim his lashes assure you no amount of angelic willpower will hinder what’s coming. Digging your fingertips deeper into his sensitive skin, you re-double the effort of your teasing assault until he starts to squirm and a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

His determination dissolves all at once in a rushed gasp for air. The structural integrity of his vessel dissolving to jelly, he collapses into a cute quivering celestial mass of atmospherically vibrant laughter.


End file.
